


Silence

by sasha_b



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Extended Scene, Gen, M/M, Mild Language, implied Arthur/Lancelot, movieverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14371932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: Arthur and Lancelot before the last trip beyond the Wall.





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> For comment fic prompt: _"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." (George Santayana)_

"How many times have we snatched victory from the jaws of defeat?"

The lieutenant watches the commander, and knows what he's going to say next. His heart, already thumping at double time, marches faster, shame and anger and _fuck's sake why is he so predictable_ and yes, here it comes.

"With you at my side, we can do so again. Lancelot - "

_No, Arthur._

"We are knights. What other purpose do we serve if not for such a cause?"

The sigh rattles his chest. The smell of the stables and the sound of many horses usually calms him, but this time, he's antsy and full of rage and Arthur, fucking _Arthur_ , and Lancelot pinches the bridge of nose between his fingers and then stands, sweeping a hand through the air. He'd cut Arthur's ridiculous ideas from the other man and from himself if he could. If doing so would make Arthur any less self-sacrificing and stupid.

"Arthur, you fight for a world that will never exist. Never!" He steps to the railing that surrounds the boxy section of practice arena that he and the other knights use - have used up until now - daily for sparring and riding. Today was supposed to be the last of that.

"There will always be a battlefield."

And then suddenly he is struck by what he can say to make it _all right_ , and he smiles as he leans forward conspiratorially. "I will die in battle. Of that I'm certain. And hopefully a battle of my choosing." He rests his elbows on the railing, wooden splinters digging in, gouging little marks into his skin through his jacket, the thick beams rough and old. "But - should it be this one, grant me a favor."

He cocks his head. _I've got you now, Castus._

"Don't bury me in our sad little cemetery. Burn me. Burn me and cast my ashes to a strong east wind."

He waits. Surely that will be enough. Arthur is Arthur, but Arthur also isn't stupid, or some insipid new commander that only follows the rules and only follows his heart -

_Gods damn him._

The other man meets Lancelot's eyes with sorrow infusing the green. They are close, breath mingling, and still Lancelot waits, _maybe_ now he'll say -

_Nothing._

A smirk crosses Lancelot's face. It is his best and most well known weapon, and Arthur's expression shifts to one of emptiness and command. Lancelot knows what Arthur would say, should the other man choose to take a stand when he needs to the most. And yet, silence.

Shoving off the railing, Lancelot laughs to himself, and exits the stables, leaving Arthur with his unsaid platitudes and his statement-less feelings.

_With you at my side, we can do so again._

The sky is heavy with the possibility of sleet, and Lancelot squints as he looks up at it, his breath coming in rasps, steam issuing with it. The chill is enough to make him shake, although he knows it's not just that. His back feels strangely empty without his weapons, although the sword he wears at his left hip makes up for that lack somewhat. 

He thinks he might feel better being more armed, now that he knows they're not going home tomorrow. They're staying to fight another of the hundreds of battles they've already fought that are not their own -

Arthur's at his heels, his hand brushing at Lancelot's neck as if to make him turn, but Lancelot strides away, across the courtyard and past his brothers that are currently taking as much time as they can to drink and carouse before the most dangerous thing they've ever done starts.

Lancelot knows what Arthur should have said in response to his words.

_I shall follow you on that last battlefield. We will both be sent eastward, together. Lancelot._

Lancelot also knows what Arthur _would_ have said, had he had strength for response.

_With you at my side, we can survive this._

How many times has the other man said that? How many times has Lancelot followed him?

He's cold, and he turns up the collar of his better-than-the-other-jackets and continues to his quarters, his hands flexing helplessly, the swords he's already packed for the now defunct trip home ready to spring to his grip, a joke, a trick.

_Don't bury me. Burn me._

\- and he'd said nothing.

Lancelot lifts the lid of his trunk and methodically removes his armor and blades and sets them on the bed silently.

**Author's Note:**

> All dialog from King Arthur belongs to its respective authors.


End file.
